



(j^oF/iHr: 



-#; 



If 



tlleffev^jjii *!/| 



^ 



EDWA/ID J^. ?1©WI11 



4 

4 



'i 



^m^ 




J. D. 'neath the " Sour Apple Tres," 






§dUx^m\ §. 



liWMi 1^. SliWIll* 



PORTSl^IOUTH : 

EEEWSTER & SON, PKINTEBS. 
1865. 



THE BALLAD 



JEFFERSON D 



That celebrated rebel chief — 

Jeff Davis is his name — 
So suddenly was brou3:ht to grief, 

When onward mighty came 

Grant's dauntless legions of the free- 
Unflinching veterans ! 

He tore his hair and swore to Lee — 
Nonplused by Yankee plans- - 

"Confound their mercenary tricks — 
They've balked my best laid plan ; 

Grant's plaster- how like fate it sticks ! 
And curse that Shcrirlan !" 



6 



Anathemas most impotent ! 

Jeff's throne has gone to smash ; 
To "fight it out," U. S. is bent, 

And "Phil" will dash and slash ! 

"They're welcome to our capital, — 

Since help ourselves we cant ; 
But capture me they never shall — 

Those caitiffs of old Grant !" 

So, hurriedly, that awful night, 

Jeff packed his big valise. 
And long before the morning light, 

His form, far from obese, 

Was bending utmost energies 

To 'scape the hated snare, 
Which Grant (consummate plan of his ! ) 

Had laid with cunning care. 

In mind, view his extended strides ; 

With wondrous might and main, 
,Jcff thumped his ribs against his sides^ 

Till sweat his face like rain ! 



High as his head ticvv heels in uir, 

His arms like f jry swung, 
His eyes stuck out, stiff was his hair, 

His jaw— how low it hung! 

Ah, Jeff! how dignified, indeed! 

How chivah'ous you looked. 
As o'er the road at topmost speed, 

Your shanks so supple crooked ! 

We'd often pictured in our mind, 
Your mushroom power on wheels ; 

But never dreampt so soon to find 
It taking to its heels ! 

Through old Virginia's swamps and fens, 

Jeff tore along "like mad," 
And spied through forlorn hope's kind lens 

The "Stonewall" iron clad! 

"Could I but reach lier friendly deck," 

The jaded traitor sighed, 
"I'd never run my precious neck 

Into a noose all tied !" i* 



8 



So hope and fear his efforts spurred— 

Yot alternate did raoclv ; 
But in N. C. this passage -bird 

Called on his chosen flock, 

And drew in glowing terms, the fame 
They all should win so soon ; 

But's hard to fan such hearts to flame- 
So like the winter moon. 

Yet second nature made them fly 
With this ill-omened bird ; 

But soon they found his word a lie,— 
When mutteriogs he heard, 

And saw their sullen faces bode 
A storm of stunning wrath, 

And if it broke, he knew 'twould load 
With obstacles his path. 

He therefore quickly drew his purse. 
And paid, to ease his fate ; 

'Twas policy to thwart their curse — 
And not repudiale ! 



9 



3ciY and his escort flew apait, 

Aud not a tear was shed ; 
But he was very sad at heart, 

And pain-racked was his head. 

Thus faithless 'niong the faithful found ; 

A few choice reprobates, 
They through the wildernesses wound, 

Of Carolina States. 

Down, down, this vagrant party plods, 

And down their faces draw, 
As dangers, like fell scourging rods, 

Kemind them of the law. 

As Georgia sees their advent shy, 

More circumspect they grow ; 
And as the hen, when hawks are nigh, 

Their fears sink courage low. 

But slow and shuddering, on they trudge ; 

Poor Mrs. D. gets scared ; 
"The Yankees come !"but Jeff cried, "fudge," 

While yet her fright he shared. 



10 



Foot-sore and faint, one night in May, 

They camp beside a creek ; 
*'01i, when," they cry, "will come the day, 

That fortune '11 cease to kick !" 

They fall asleep, but sleep to dream 

Of "sour apple trees," 
And pistols' click, and sabres' gleam, 

And clank of dungeon keys ! 

The morning stars were going to sleep, 

And blushed the eastern sky, 
When on their startled slumbers leap 

Sharp sounds of strife hard by ! 

Dumbfounded, from their rest they spring, 

And at each other stare ; 
But time is precious, for the ring 

Of danger's on the air. 

"They've come ! the horrid Yanks have come f 

They're close upon our camp ; 
We're all undone ! fate's deaf and dumb — 

Our luck's all of this stamp !" 



11 



Thus Mrs. D. full frantic broke 

Into a surge of sighs ; 
"My dear.doomed Jeff! oh.where's tlie cloak 

To bide from vulgar eyes ! 

"Eureka, love, I have it now ! 

Here ! don my hoops —be quick ! 
Now this— that,— slip in anyhow, 

Then creep down to the creek ! 

"iSTow, here's tlic ])ix\\—hoio pale you've grown ! 

Our help they'll s'pose you are, 
And won't molest a poor old crone, 

In life's decline so far !" 

So, hooped and hooded, Jeff essayed 

Escape 'neath this disguise ; 
But shrewder tact his foe displayed. 

While hoops ivere on the rise ! 

"That hag bare-footed must have gone, 

Through all her years of youth, 
Or she might else stand well upon 

A yard of soil, forsootli !" 



12 

Then with his pistol at the head 

Of hooped and hooded Jeff, 
Commanded him, in view of lead, 

To straight give up himself. 

Jeff's ire was up, the pail dropped down, 

He brandished high in hate, 
A bowie-knife, — while madam's gown 

Seemed strangely animate ! 

"Magnanimous, indeed, you are, 

To hunt lone women down ! 
Your government, both near and far. 

Will thus reap rare renown ?" 

Vituperation of this sort. 

Our chevalier belched free ; 
But Pritchard's hook the shark safe caught: 

Jeff wriggled futilely ! 

Then Madame D. her tongue-darts sent : 

"The day you'll surely rue, 
That you provoke the president — 

lie might hurt some of you !" 



13 

But 'twas 110 use,— Jeff and his hoops 

Subsided with ill grace ; 
And now he fares on Union soups, 

And deems it bad to lace ' 

The farce is done— the curtain's down, 
And Jeff has left the stage ; 

He'll ne'er again act out the clown, 
In this eventful age ! 



And now recurs the query queer, 

That's oft debated been — 
When will that final ditch appear, 

To fiends in shape of men ? 

In years agone they've often seemed, 

The very verge so nigh, 
Of threatened doom, that Hades gleamed 

Full on their perfidy ! 



14 

True intimations of tlieir fate, 
These solemn scenes revealed, 

That they might learn, ere all too late, 
'Twas best to Eight to yield. 

The many turned, —the few elect 
To till the knave's foul niche ; 

There's no reprieve ! they now are becked 
To cross the last, "last ditch V 





THE -LAST DITCH. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 





